


After the Interview (The one where Brenda and Sharon get drunk)

by ultragirlvfr750



Category: The Closer
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:13:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultragirlvfr750/pseuds/ultragirlvfr750
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the Closer universe, immediately after the events of Last Woman Standing.  I created this from a prompt "holding hands/fingers interlaced".  It was supposed to be very short but somehow it morphed into a mini-fic.  It is my intention to eventually finish it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The bar

Sharon leaned back in her chair, one arm of her glasses clenched between her teeth. She wasn’t doing much more than shuffling papers and sneaking sidelong glances at the door to her office. There was no real reason for her to still be at work. She wasn’t overseeing any open cases. Patrol seemed to be behaving itself, no one in Major Crimes had managed to shoot anyone lately, and she’d successfully sent Chief Johnson off to her meeting with the Mayor without having to personally strong-arm her across the street. Ever full of surprises the Chief had showed up, albeit reluctantly, in a flawless red dress that even the Captain couldn’t find fault with. If Sharon was going to be completely honest with herself she had to admit that when she’d burst into the media room looking for her charge only years of practice in the art of composing her features into a perfect mask of icy control had stopped her from revealing the nature of her true feelings about Brenda’s attire.

The Deputy Chief was stunning. 

She had been leaning forward on the desk, clearly to get a closer look at what was on Buzz’s monitor, and yet her stance had also afforded Sharon a full view of cleavage that left very little to the imagination. And Sharon had to admit it was far more mesmerizing than anything she had actually imagined hiding behind Brenda’s god-awful sweaters. The Captain had sucked in her breath, tore her gaze away from her superior’s breasts and forced herself to focus on the Chief’s face. Brenda had simply stared at her with a knowing smile.

“Caught you,” that smirk had said and Sharon had unconsciously flushed. Her best and only course of action had been to become immediately combative.

But even now she could feel a flush rising in her cheeks at the thought of that dress so perfectly molded to Brenda’s curves. 

The ringing of her phone jolted Sharon out of her daydream about the infuriating blonde.

“Sharon Raydor,” the Captain’s voice was clipped and professional.

“Cap’n Raydor, for someone who spent the day badgerin’ me about the importance of bein’ on time I’m surprised you’re not more punctual.”

“I’m not sure I’m following you,” Sharon stalled, “but if this is about your meeting with the Mayor I would be delighted to debrief it with you, Chief Johnson.”

“If you’d be so delighted then why am I sittin’ here drinkin’ merlot all on my own?”

The Chief sounded almost petulant and even through her confusion Sharon couldn’t deny the thrill of excitement that shot through her at the sound of Brenda’s voice. In the background Sharon could hear the sounds of muted conversations and a piano. Good Lord was that Billy Joel?

“Um Chief,” Sharon began, “where exactly are you? And I get the sense that I’ve missed some pertinent elements to this conversation. Perhaps you could fill me in?”

For a moment Brenda remained silent and Sharon could almost envision her tossing her head and rolling her eyes in the familiar way she did when Commander Taylor or her squad couldn’t keep up with her train of thought.

“Chief Pope made it very clear to me, and I quote, ‘that I am to make myself available through every step of my candidacy process for Chief of Police to Captain Sharon Raydor, while endeavourin’ to make her aware of any and all outcomes of each aforementioned stage in order for this department to avoid being utterly humiliated’.” Brenda continued. “‘Further to that in the spirit of fosterin’ a more open communication between your departments while dealin’ with this ongoin’ issue discussion of these outcomes will be held in a less formal setting.’ Which I’m assumin’ is Pope-speak for orderin’ us to get along better. 

Sharon closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Chief Pope personally set up this meetin’ himself. I got one of those annoyin’ calendar notification thingies that come poppin’ up on my phone. Strategize next step after meeting with Mayor. 6pm. Wiltshire Hotel Bar. It took me twenty minutes just to figure out how to accept……”

Sharon held the phone away from her ear letting Brenda go on while she frantically scrolled back through her calendar. How could she have missed this particular invitation? And Goddamn Will Pope, sending her out to meet with Brenda in a more ‘relaxed and casual location’ in order to ‘encourage them into a better working relationship’? Didn’t the man realize what a recipe for disaster that was? They loathed one another. But even as she found the notification, unopened, Sharon realized that she didn’t loathe Brenda. Not anymore, and her anger at Pope was more consternation over the fact that she was going to have to sit at a bar next to Brenda while she was still in that form-fitting dress. Just the idea of that sent a thrill of anticipation down her spine and she viciously pushed it away. 

“Cap’n? For heaven’s sake Cap’n Raydor are you still there?”

“I’m here,” Sharon sighed. She stood up and collected her purse. “So, earlier today when you said “See Ya” you literally meant ‘see you in a few hours’?”

“Of course Cap’n,” Brenda confirmed. “Don’t take this the wrong way but I’m not exactly hopin’ to see you at any of my crime scenes any time soon. Not that I don’t enjoy havin’ you followin’ me around, second guessin’ all my decisions.” 

“My apologies for holding you up, Chief. I’m sure you’re eager to get home to Agent Howard.” 

Sharon’s voice was low and professional and didn’t betray the disappointment she felt. Earlier that afternoon she’d thought Brenda just might be softening toward her, if only just a little and she had to admit that she had been secretly elated when Brenda’s parting words had been a casual reference to seeing one another again at some undetermined time in the future instead of one of her usual barbs.

“Traffic should be light” Sharon continued, “I’ll make good time. If you wouldn’t mind Chief? A favour?”

“What’s that Cap’n?” Brenda’s voice was cautious.

“Double bourbon. On the rocks. If I’m going to be subjected to a Billy Joel crooner I’m going to need the fortification.”

2.

“Oh that woman!” Brenda muttered under her breath and then tried to catch the eye of the bartender. If she was ordering the Captain a double bourbon she might as well go ahead and have another glass of merlot.

What was it about Sharon that put her so off balance? 

And why had she been so snarky with her just now? She sipped the last of her wine and brooded. Brenda was not a women given to introspection and the fact that she couldn’t seem to keep her mind off of Sharon Raydor was extremely disconcerting. 

She was exhausted. Her meeting with the Mayor was everything she hated about her job distilled into thirty minutes. It was a game, and playing politics grated on Brenda’s nerves. It had taken everything she had to smile and nod instead of answering the Mayor’s questions with a well-deserved caustic retort. It was only the memory of the softness in Sharon’s eyes when she had implored Brenda to take the job whether she wanted it or not, and the husky, cracked sound of her voice, as if she was on the verge of tears, that had kept Brenda’s tongue in check. 

The bartender placed the drinks in front of Brenda.

“This one’s on the house,” he gestured to the wine. “You’ve been sitting here awhile. I hope he didn’t stand you up.” His smile wavered between polite neutrality and pity.

“‘He’s a ‘she’. And it’s not that kind of date,” Brenda replied tartly. 

The bartender shrugged his shoulders and Brenda could feel her cheeks flush and she unconsciously ran her hands down her dress. 

A date? With Sharon Raydor? That was the most ridiculous thing she’d heard today. More ridiculous, even, than the idea that she might actually get the job of Chief of the LAPD. And yet Brenda’s mind wandered back to the moment in her office at the end of Sharon’s quietly impassioned speech about being a role model when the Captain had impulsively reached out to shake Brenda’s hand. It was an oddly intimate gesture and suddenly Brenda had been sure the older woman was going to pull her into a hug. She’d found herself wondering what it would be like to feel the Captain’s arms around her. 

“Chief, my apologies for keeping you waiting,” Sharon sat down and Brenda found herself staring directly into the Captain’s moss green eyes. 

“Forty-five minutes isn’t the end of the world Cap’n”

“Nevertheless, I hope our miscommunication hasn’t kept you from anything important,” Sharon’s voice was professional but Brenda caught just a twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

“Nothin’ but a sink full of dishes that I can’t ignore. So really Cap’n you’re doin’ me a favour.”

There was an awkward pause and then Sharon picked up her drink. 

“A toast. To the potential next Chief of the Los Angeles Police Department.”

“Well, I’m not sure about that,” Brenda groused but she raised her wine glass to Sharon’s bourbon. 

“I was on time.”

“That’s a start, Chief,” 

“So thank you for that,” Brenda continued.

“It was my pleasure, really, Chief”, Sharon’s voice was low and Brenda wasn’t sure whether it was the stress of the day, drinking merlot on an empty stomach, or a combination of the two, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off of the Captain’s mouth as she spoke. 

She reflexively licked her own lips.

“Brenda.”

“Excuse me, Chief,” Sharon looked at her confused.

“Well if Pope is goin’ to have us try this little experiment of ‘strategizin’ in a more casual settin’ it seems silly to have you ‘Chiefin’ me every other minute.”

“Well if you’re Brenda then I guess I’m Sharon,” the Captain smiled and playfully stuck out her hand.

Brenda’s palm slid into Sharon’s and unlike earlier in the day her grip was soft, light and her eyes behind her glasses were dancing with a smile. Brenda’s breath hitched and she realized the Captain was actually playing with her. She lightly squeezed Sharon’s fingers and then, almost regretfully let go, dropping her palm to the top of the bar.

“Another drink, Sharon?” Brenda liked the feel of the brunette’s name in her mouth. 

She was already feeling muzzy headed and realized that more alcohol in this situation was probably not the best idea. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the Captain seeing her less than composed but it was too late now to retract her invitation.

As the evening progressed their conversation moved, hesitantly at first, away from debriefing her afternoon and tactical planning, to mutual commiseration and Brenda was shocked to find that she was genuinely enjoying the Captain’s company. If nothing else the woman was a hell of a good storyteller. Brenda found herself listening more than talking and her only gauge of time passing was how often the bartender refilled her glass.

Sharon downed the last of her bourbon and ran her fingers roughly through her hair. 

“Chief…..Brenda, I have to say, surprisingly I’ve actually had a wonderful time tonight.”

“Seems as though Pope’s little plan might have had some merit after all,” Brenda conceded with a smile.

“Indeed. Perhaps we can do it again, soon,” Sharon slid off her chair, carefully holding onto the bar for support. “Although maybe with fewer drinks.”

“Check your calendar,” Brenda sassed, “I’m sure Will’s got the next one all lined up.” She bit her lip. She hadn’t intended to sound harsh. 

She quickly stood up and the room swam around her. Now it made sense why Sharon was using the bar as a back support. 

Brenda couldn’t help herself. She started to giggle. 

“What’s…..funny?” Sharon seemed to be having difficult forming her consonants.

“For heaven’s sake. We’re drunk,” her voice was incredulous.

“No, Chief,” Sharon enunciated carefully, “an hour ago we were drunk. I think it’s safe to say that we are well and truly shitfaced!”

Hearing the expletive come out of Captain Raydor’s mouth, so out of character with her usual, infuriatingly measured speech only made Brenda laugh harder. She stumbled and would have fallen but Sharon steadied her. Brenda straightened up and swept her purse off the bar, leaning into the Captain. Her face was almost in Sharon’s thick hair and she could smell vanilla and the stronger scent of bourbon as she whispered sotto voce.

“As two high rankin’ female officers of the LAPD we are gonna help each other walk out of here with all the dignity befittin’ that rank.”

“Copy that, Chief.”

Sharon slung her arm over Brenda’s shoulders and Brenda’s arm found its way around Sharon’s waist. Together they picked their way through the crowded hotel bar without overtly weaving. Brenda could feel Sharon’s hip brushing alongside hers as they walked and Sharon’s thumb was moving in a lazy circle in the hollow of Brenda’s collarbone. Gooseflesh stippled her arms and somewhere in the part of Brenda’s brain that was not intoxicated she registered the fact that she was aroused. Rather than unsettling her, somehow in her drunken state, the knowledge of this fact made perfect sense to her and it was with real regret that she let go of Sharon to flop down on a leather sofa in a quiet corner of the lobby.

The Captain settled next to her and sighed.

“So, what now?” Sharon asked.

“Well, clearly neither of us can drive.”

“And no one we know in a professional capacity can ever, ever see us like this,” Sharon shot back.

“So that’s David Gabriel out then.” Brenda groaned.

The sofa was soft and Brenda was almost touching the woman next to her. Suddenly she was so tired. This had been one of strangest days of her life and she contemplated just falling asleep where she sat.

“What about Fritz?”

“Trainin’ course in DC,” Brenda countered.

“Taxi?”

“I don’t know where you live, Cap’n but I’d rather not spend my entire life savin’s gettin’ across town. And this sofa is very comfortable. At this point the carpet is lookin’ good.”

Her head was so heavy. She let it drop onto the Captain’s shoulder. 

Brenda wasn’t surprised at all when Sharon took her hand for the third time that day and interlaced their fingers. 

Neither of them spoke and Brenda closed her eyes, afraid that anything she said would break their tenuous contact. She had no idea how long they sat together when Sharon finally shifted.

“Chief?”

“Brenda,” the blonde corrected her.

“Brenda?”

“Hmmm?” Brenda hummed.

“Which one of us is going to pay for the room?”


	2. Checking In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a long time to get back to this idea. There is more coming as this story is sort of taking on a life of its own.

3.

“Room?” Brenda responded. She was finding it hard to string coherent thoughts together and she was also very aware of Sharon’s hand nested inside hers.

“Yes, Brenda,” Sharon spoke slowly, “A hotel room.” She gently removed her hand reached up and grabbed Brenda’s chin lightly, turning the blonde’s face toward her.

“It’s that place where, in exchange for money, the establishment gives you a bed, and a bathroom, and if it’s half way decent, a reasonably well stocked mini-bar.”

The Captain’s face was entirely too close to Brenda for comfort and she frowned and shook her head, trying to clear her vision.

“We’re in a hotel,” she crowed triumphantly.

Sharon rolled her eyes.

“We are in a hotel but right now we’re in the lobby.”

“It’s a nice lobby.” Brenda replied and looked around, squinting. “The paintings are nice. The carpet is nice. This couch is really nice. I think we should just have a nap….”

“You’re right, it is nice here,” Sharon interrupted as if she were talking to a child. “And do you know what might be even better?”

“What could be better than a nap?” Brenda smiled beatifically up at Sharon and then dropped her head in the Captain’s lap. 

“Soft,” she murmured. “And nice.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Sharon sighed.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Brenda mimicked, her face still buried in the Sharon’s lap.

Sharon wrinkled her forehead and rubbed her face with one hand while her other hand, almost with a mind of its own, reached down and smoothed Brenda’s mop of blonde hair. Sharon traced the line of Brenda’s jaw as she gently pulled errant curls away from her mouth. Even through her own drunken fog she felt an uncomfortable flush of desire mixed with a flood of intense tenderness for the woman whose face was currently buried against her belly. She leaned over until her lips were almost on Brenda’s.

“Brenda?’ she whispered “You need to get up now and walk over to the check-in counter with me or, alternatively, you can explain to your squad, Commander Taylor, Chief Pope and maybe even the Mayor that the potential future Chief of the Los Angeles Police Department spent the night in the lobby of the Wiltshire with her face in a subordinate’s lap. Is that what you want?”

Brenda sighed and clawed at Sharon, using the brunette to pull herself up into a sitting position.

“Y’all never let me have any fun.”

“I wasn’t aware that fun was part of the Major Crimes mandate,” Sharon retorted. She stood up and took Brenda’s hand, pulling her to her feet. “Come on, Chief. You’ll feel better once you’re lying down.”

“I was lyin’ down.” Brenda pouted, but she dutifully followed Sharon toward the marble counter at the front of the lobby. 

Brenda hadn’t been this drunk since just after her divorce. Her brother had convinced her to go out with him and his flamboyant boyfriend of the moment. What had his name been, Jeff or Jett? She couldn’t remember. What she did remember was how lost she had felt. Lost and hollow. The boys had convinced her to drink some sort of concoction out of a fishbowl and by the end of the evening she’d found herself on the dance floor, grinding, almost violently, against a broad-shouldered woman with wheat blonde hair. Volleyball. That was the extent of the personal details about her that she managed to obtain. What Brenda acutely recalled was staggering with her Amazonian dance partner to a darkened corner of the bar and kissing her until she was senseless. When her brother had finally found her, according to him, Brenda was half undressed with her hands up the woman’s skirt. After the initial shock of witnessing his extremely straight sister making out with a woman who looked like an ex-varsity athlete he’d managed to drag her back to their table where she’d capped the night off in style by signing her credit card bill with a flowery ‘Fuck You’, and promptly threw up all over her own feet in the parking lot of the club.

Watching Sharon walk ahead of her, slowly so that she didn’t weave, Brenda felt the same tingling ache in her body she’d had that night. Through the haze of merlot Brenda was struck with the absolute clarity that there wasn’t one thing about the position of Chief of Police that she even remotely wanted, and everything about Captain Sharon Raydor that she did. As she watched the sway of Sharon’s hips, mesmerized by the way her skirt shifted when she moved, she bit her lip and tried to will herself back to sobriety.

“Goddamnit”, Sharon toppled to one side and Brenda reached out and grabbed her before she could fall.

“If you would just wait for me instead of tryin’ to do everythin’ yourself….” Brenda put her arm around Sharon’s waist to steady her.

“This coming from the woman with the master plan to sleep on the carpet in the lobby,” Her reply didn’t stop her from linking her arm around Brenda.

“Do not faceplant into the desk,” she continued in a furious whisper. “And for God’s sake don’t say anything. You’re drunk.”

“So are you,” Brenda shot back.

“You’re drunker.”

“Drunker?” Brenda snorted. “That’s not even a word.”

“More drunk. Inebriated. Whatever,” Sharon hissed. “Just follow my lead.”

“Whatever you say Miss I Must Go First.”

Sharon walked gingerly up to the counter and placed her hands face down on the marble for support.

“I’d like to check-in, please.”

“Do you have a reservation with us, M’am?” the young man behind the counter barely looked up. 

“M’am?!” Brenda snorted and Sharon discreetly stomped on her foot.

“My apologies” she said turning back to the desk. “I’ll need to make a reservation.”

“And how long will you be staying with us?” the clerk, who’s name tag announced him as “Chris” and that it was his pleasure to help them, peered at Sharon over the terminal, finally taking an interest in the women standing in front of him.

“Just the one night will be fine, thank you, Chris,” Sharon answered.

The clerk typed something energetically into the keyboard. “We have two rooms left with king beds. I can put you in the one with the larger balcony and a view of the inner courtyard and swimming pool, no extra charge” he looked back and forth between Sharon and Brenda. “I’m assuming that will be sufficient?”

“Swimmin’ pool. I love swimmin’,” Brenda exclaimed and draped herself over Sharon. “And balconies. My Mamma always said a hotel room should never be without a balcony. That a woman just feels so much more beautiful when she’s standin’ high up in the air with the breeze rufflin’ through her hair, lookin’ out over the world…..” her voice trailed off and she let her head drop onto Sharon’s shoulder.

“That’s settled then,” the clerk continued typing, with a huge smile in Sharon’s direction. “We’re glad to be able to make your partner so happy. How will you be paying?”

Sharon resisted the urge to smash her forehead into the desk. This was fast becoming one of the most embarrassing nights of her life. She made a mental note to re-evaluate her relationship with drinking. Once she sobered up.

“Oh my lovely partner will be more than happy to put this on her credit card,” she turned to Brenda, “won’t you, honey?” 

Brenda squinted at Sharon, confused and then she nodded. 

“Course, I’ve got my card right here.” She rummaged through the tiny purse Sharon had insisted she carry earlier that day. “Ooo, where’s my wallet? How is it possible for something so big to get lost in a bag this little?” As she rambled Brenda deposited her lipstick, tissues, car keys, and several candy wrappers on the counter. She was about to dump the bag upside down when Sharon’s hands covered hers.

“Never mind, darling, she muttered her voice icy. “I’ve got it.”

In one swift motion she had Brenda’s wallet out of the purse and ripped it open. She grabbed the first credit card she could find and slid it across the counter to the clerk. 

He finished the transaction without further conversation and with keycards in hand Sharon steered Brenda toward the bank of elevators across from the couch they’d stumbled upon earlier. 

Sharon stabbed at the button. 

Her feet were killing her. All she wanted was to lie down, swallow some advil and take off her shoes; not necessarily in that order.

She was keenly aware of the woman standing next to her. Brenda was fidgeting with the handles on her purse, clenching her lower lip between her teeth. The clerk at the desk had assumed they were partners which wasn’t surprising given the way that Brenda had draped herself over Sharon and the considerable size of the rock on her wedding finger. LA had its fair share of gay women and Sharon realized the clerk probably hadn’t given their relationship a second thought. 

Unfortunately, now, that seemed to be all Sharon could think about.

She stole another glance at Brenda and felt an all too familiar rush, a rush that she was most often able to push away when they were forced to work with one another. 

The impeccable dress she’d worn to the interview with the Mayor was now wrinkled. There was a run in her stocking, tracing a delicate line over the swell of Brenda’s lean calf. At some point in the evening she’d lost her elastic and her hair was a disheveled riot of blonde curls. What was it about this woman that was so alluring? Brenda was hands down the most annoying person Sharon had ever dealt with, and more often than not she came away from their encounters wanting to strangle the diminutive Deputy Chief. 

And yet right now she had to restrain herself from leaning over and tucking the blonde curls back behind Brenda’s ear.

The doors slid open and Sharon propelled Brenda into the elevator, the palm of her hand in the small of the Chief’s back. Even that much felt far too intimate and as the doors closed she withdrew her hand, keyed in their floor and then leaned back against the wall.

Beside her Brenda started to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Sharon asked, her eyes closed relishing the feel of cool steel against the back of her head.

“That boy, on the desk when we were checkin’ in, he thought we were a couple!”

“You’re only just figuring that out now?” Sharon answered her eyes still closed. “You know, Brenda, for a woman who worked as an interrogator for the CIA you can be surprisingly dense sometimes.”

“Well the idea’s just so ridiculous you’ll have to forgive me for not keepin’ up.” Brenda retorted.

“Agreed, Chief,” Sharon’s voice was dangerously low. “How utterly preposterous.”

The doors opened and Sharon stalked off he elevator.

“I didn’t mean ridiculous in a bad way,” Brenda called and stumbled after the brunette.

Sharon shoved open the door to their room. She felt a hot rush of tears behind her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose to stop herself from crying.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered under her breath. She would not allow Brenda Leigh Johnson to make her cry. That was more ridiculous than the idea they were a couple.

“Cap’n,” Brenda said breathlessly as she followed Sharon into the room, “You don’t have to get all mad. It’s not….” her voice trailed off as she turned on the overhead light and her eyes widened in shock.

Sharon sat on the edge of the bed still pinching the bridge of her nose over the top of her glasses. Her eyes were screwed shut but Brenda could see tears leaking from the corners. For one moment she stood helplessly in the middle of the room gaping at the Captain, her hands twisting unconsciously together, before she moved to Sharon’s side and tentatively perched on the bed. She reached out and awkwardly patted the Captain’s back.

Brenda felt a rush of tenderness for the woman next to her and she mentally kicked herself for her acid tongue. It was simply that she felt so off-kilter around the Captain, so exposed. A quick retort was easier than examining the welter of confusing feelings that flooded through her whenever she looked at Sharon. The problem wasn’t that Brenda couldn’t imagine people thinking she and Sharon were a couple. The difficulty lay more with the fact that the longer the Deputy Chief spent with the woman who was supposed to be her biggest adversary, the more she was coming to admire her. And Brenda realized her admiration extended much further than simply being impressed with he Captain’s tenacity or work ethic. Standing at the check-in counter with her arms casually wrapped around Sharon’s neck, Brenda had felt a strange mixture of contentment and freedom. Both of those feelings scared her. It scared her how easily she fit next to Sharon, and the fact that a stranger thought it was perfectly natural they were a couple was equally thrilling and terrifying.

Without thinking Brenda reached up and cradled Sharon’s cheek, pulling her head down to rest on her chest near the crook of her shoulder. Her other hand mindlessly stroked Sharon’s back and she could feel the frames of the other woman’s glasses digging into her collarbone, but she didn’t dare move, didn’t want the moment to end. She buried her face in Sharon’s hair, breathing in the clean scent of shampoo and something more subtle, perhaps lavender. 

Sharon made a hitching noise in her chest and pulled away until her face was just inches from Brenda’s. Slowly, almost dreamily, Brenda watched her own hands delicately reach up and remove Sharon’s glasses. She placed them absentmindedly next to her on the bed without taking her eyes off of Sharon’s. They were red-rimmed from her recent tears but a deep green and Brenda noticed, for the first time, with flecks of amber that caught the light when she moved. They narrowed imperceptibly and Brenda felt, more than heard, Sharon’s inhale.

“Brenda Leigh?” the words came out as a sigh but before she could continue Brenda pressed her index finger gently against Sharon’s lips. She brushed her knuckles back and forth along the curve of Sharon’s cheek. Sharon’s eyelids fluttered and Brenda leaned in and ghosted her lips along her temple marvelling in the softness of Sharon’s skin, catching again the scent of her hair. Her thumb traced the outline of Sharon’s bottom lip, lightly at first and then with more pressure. Sharon made a moaning sound in the back of her throat and Brenda heard herself groan in reply. 

The kiss was softer than anything Brenda had ever felt and a cramp of desire twisted in her belly. Sharon parted her lips and Brenda captured them with her own, deepening the kiss, tasting the sweetness of bourbon. For the rest of her life she would forever associate the smell of bourbon with that first, heated kiss. Sharon’s hands twisted in Brenda’s hair, pulling her closer, her tongue fluttering against Brenda’s. 

The two women broke apart, panting, foreheads pressed tightly together.

“God, what are we doing?” Sharon’s voice cracked.

“Kissin’,” Brenda mumbled against Sharon’s mouth. Her teeth nipped along Sharon’s bottom lip and she teased the older woman with her tongue. “I don’t want to think about anything but kissin’ you.”

Sharon pulled away and shifted her body until she was lying on her side, head propped up on one elbow. She looked at Brenda with a combination of resignation and desire. She shook her head.

“You’re drunk.”

“I don’t feel drunk,” Brenda mused, “at least not anymore.”

“But you are,” Sharon’s voice was soft and sad. “And so am I. We both are. That’s the only reason we’re here. I don’t want to do anything we’ll regret in the morning.”

Brenda straightened up and ran her fingers violently through her hair. 

“So kissin’ me is already a regret?” 

Sharon’s eyes filled for the second time that night and she ducked her head.

“No,” her voice was emphatic, “I’ve wanted that…..wanted to…..God no….” she stuttered.

Brenda perched on the bed her feet tucked under her and stared at Sharon, her head cocked to one side.

“You wanted to what, Cap’n?” she pressed. 

Sharon shook her head imperceptibly. 

“Please, don’t ask me that.”

Brenda reached out and tipped Sharon’s face toward her.

“What is it you wanted,” a pause, “Cap’n Raydor.

Brenda’s voice was silky and Sharon found she couldn’t look away from those huge, dark eyes. They pulled her in and the Captain realized this was what is must feel like to sit on the other side of an interrogation table from the Closer.

“I wanted to kiss you the night when you misled me into driving across town to the wrong hospital,” she leaned closer. “When I walked in on you coaching David Gabriel,” Sharon reached out and touched Brenda’s hair. 

“You were in that hideous pink trench coat”, she traced her index finger down the column of Brenda’s neck. “And I thought your voice was the single most annoying thing I had ever heard.” 

A ghost of a smile twitched across Brenda’s lips and she leaned into Sharon.

“And?” 

“And I wanted to kiss that ridiculous drawl right out of your mouth,” Sharon finished.

Brenda sat back, slid off the bed and stood up. Without taking her eyes off of Sharon she reached one arm around her back and tugged at her zipper. In one fluid motion she unzipped the dress and let it fall to the floor. 

Sharon’s involuntary gasp was all the encouragement she needed. Brenda slid back onto the bed, drew the Captain into her arms and pressed the entire length of their bodies together.

“This would be the perfect time to try,” her mouth seeking Sharon’s. “I’m not sure how successful you’ll be Cap’n, but I think you should fully give it your usual, infuriatin’ attention.”


End file.
